


Self-Care for Dummies

by cookie_full_of_arsenic



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 20:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18373838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookie_full_of_arsenic/pseuds/cookie_full_of_arsenic
Summary: Signs that you need to start practising self-care: 1) Feeling exhausted or drained. 2) Unexplained aches and pains. 3) A disembodied part of your psyche tries to stab you with a pair of scissors.





	Self-Care for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

> A weirdly wholesome fic for a not-so-wholesome character. I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Rated T for language. Also, there is a brief reference to a failed suicide attempt.

Self-Care for Dummies

  1. **Breathe**



Two dead girls is, apparently, the kind of thing you can’t just shrug off. Rudy thought he was dealing with it pretty well, but other Rudy seems to have other ideas, judging by the full-blown panic attack he’s currently having.

He’s sat in the shower, fully clothed, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms locked around his legs. The shower is turned on full, and though Rudy gets it – that fierce, all-consuming water pressure is helpful when you’re having a funny five minutes – he’s also annoyed, because the other him is being a right drama queen. Honestly, he looks like a rape victim on a shitty ITV crime drama.

“They’re both dead because of us,” says the other him. He says it in a tight, rushed voice, then goes back to hyperventilating.

“Look, it were self-defence. And I never meant to hurt the other one, she just…” he trails off, because the other him is clearly immune to logic right now. He’s tempted to just bugger off for a while. Panic is contagious, and he can feel his own pulse speeding up. Plus, it’s embarrassing, seeing himself like this.

Then again, maybe he does feel sorry for the poor bastard. He pushes the shower screen out of the way and crouches down in front of the other him. He tries to remember what the college counsellor told him, all those years ago.

“Try and breathe from your diaphragm, it’ll stop you getting dizzy,” he says.

“What?” says other Rudy, looking wild-eyed and disoriented.

“Your diaphragm.”

“I thought that were birth control.”

“Yeah, but it’s also a thing in your body, remember. It’s about here.” He pokes the other him, between the chest and stomach, and other Rudy flinches at his touch. “Come on man, give it a try.”

Other Rudy gives a jerky nod, and frowns in concentration. After a minute or so, his breathing slows and Rudy knows the worst is over. “Good lad,” he mutters, patting other Rudy’s knee. He can’t make eye contact or try to hug the other him because he remembers what it feels like, afterwards. Fragile as an egg. Too much kindness, from anyone, and you just fall apart.

  1. **Eat**



“I’m telling you, I’ve got lupus.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ve got achy joints, and I’m exhausted. How d’you explain that?”

“Rushing around, and not getting enough kip.”

Rudy dumps spaghetti into the colander and a cloud of steam rises. They’ve had this conversation with everything from meningitis to OCD, not to mention every kind of cancer known to man.

“I think I’ve got a fever, too. We really should buy a thermometer, you know.”

“We really shouldn’t, ‘cause you’d have it in your mouth or up your arse every five minutes. And you’d probably forget to wash it in between, and then you’d be worried about getting ill from your own arse germs. It’d be a vicious cycle.”

Other Rudy is silent, and Rudy gives a grim smile of triumph as he mixes the sauce into the pasta. “Come on, fetch us a couple of plates.”

“You made dinner for me, too?” the other him says, as if this is a bizarre thing to do.

“Yeah, well, I got the impression you weren’t going back inside for a while. D’you want grated cheese with it?”

They eat, and other Rudy seems to perk up, just a little.

“Apparently it’s one of your five a day,” says Rudy, gesturing with his fork at the empty jar of pasta sauce.

“Good,” says the other him. “We should be eating more fruit and veg.”

“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll try and eat more fruit and veg, if you stop googling every little ache and pain and itch and freckle you get. Google’s gonna convince you you’re dying every time you’ve got a headache.”

Other Rudy chews thoughtfully, swallows, and says “Deal.”

 

  1. **Sleep**



It’s a bad night. Other Rudy popped out about an hour ago, and they’ve been arguing ever since. Things got nasty – even nastier than usual – and Rudy might have told the other him to fuck off to Wales and do something inappropriate with a sheep.

Now it’s late, and Rudy wants nothing more than to flop into bed and fall asleep. Fat chance of that happening with other Rudy skulking about the room, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, radiating anguish.

“Look, I don’t know about you, but I’m bloody knackered,” says Rudy. “So do us a favour and get back in here so I can sleep.” He taps his stomach, but other Rudy just shakes his head like a sulky toddler. Rudy sighs.

“Well, I can’t sleep with you hovering around, so either get in me or get in the bed.”

After a little more agitated pacing, his other self chooses the bed. He lies facing away from Rudy, curled up in the foetal position. Rudy closes his eyes and tries to forget that he’s there, but can’t.

The whiny little twat just looks so _vulnerable_. Rudy has a mad urge to put an arm around him. To hold him close and try to comfort him. He’s not in the habit of cuddling other blokes, even ones who happen to be a disembodied part of his own psyche. But he has to do something, or he’ll never get any sleep.

“I didn’t mean it, y’know, about you fucking off to Wales.”

No reply, just moody silence. Big surprise.

“Seriously man, I don’t want you to go. I wouldn’t feel right, without you. I’d be full of blank spaces.”

More silence.

“I just want you to be okay. I keep worrying that things are gonna get really bad again, like when…”

Rudy trails off, because his other self obviously knows what he’s on about. That time in college, when he tried to off himself. The memory lingers, like the weird taste in his mouth after they pumped his stomach.

Other Rudy finally speaks, though his voice is muffled against the pillow and Rudy has to strain to hear him. “I just want to be okay too. But I’m not always okay, and I wish you’d fucking accept that and stop pretending. That was half the reason things got so bad, in college. You wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Rudy doesn’t have an answer to that, because he knows it’s true.

“Sorry,” he says, eventually. “I won’t let it get that bad again. If things start going haywire I’ll talk to someone, like a doctor or a counsellor or summat.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, promise.”

Other Rudy uncurls, just a little bit, and some of the tension leaves his back and shoulders. Maybe they can finally get some sleep now.

In the morning, Rudy wakes up to find an empty space next to him, and no empty spaces inside him.

 

  1. **Have fun**



Other Rudy does not handle rejection well. He especially doesn’t handle the kind of unnecessarily cruel, “If you were the last guy on Earth, I’d go lesbian,” rejections well, which is why he’s currently fretting and fussing in the toilets, trying to convince Rudy to go home.

“What’s the point?” he whines. “There’s not a single girl in this club who’d be interested so why are we wasting our time?”

“It were one girl!” Rudy counters. “And honestly, I don’t think it’d take all but one of the male population disappearing to turn her into a lezzer. Pretty sure I saw her checking out that fit barmaid with the eyebrow ring earlier.”

“There’s plenty of better looking blokes here, we don’t stand a chance. We should just go home.”

“You know what? I’m done arguing with you. We came here for a good time, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, Rudy grabs other Rudy’s wrist and drags him out of the toilets and onto the dancefloor.

“What you doing?” other Rudy asks, sounding a little panicked. Instead of answering, Rudy raises other Rudy’s arm above his head and does a twirly thing, making his other self spin around. Then he starts throwing some truly spectacular shapes. Other Rudy just stands there awkwardly.

“Come on, you know you love this song,” Rudy says, grinning encouragingly. It’s that _Dancing On My Own_ song, by whatserface. The other him starts to move a little, but it’s too cautious for Rudy’s liking. He grabs other Rudy’s hands and spins him around, making him laugh in surprise.

After that, they’re away. Dancing like Rudy hasn’t danced in ages. Like he danced when he was a kid, before he learnt that dancing was something you do to get girls to sleep with you rather than something you do for the joy of it.

The other people in the club give them a wide berth. Maybe they’re freaked out by the sight of identical twins dancing together like a pair of absolute nutters. Or maybe they’re just worried about getting their pints spilt by stray elbows. Rudy doesn’t care. And eventually, nor does other Rudy.

 

  1. **Cry if you need to.**



Grampy dies on a Sunday evening. According to the nurse at the old people’s home, he slipped away at some point during _Antiques Roadshow_ , which has to be the most boring death imaginable. It’s a shame, because Grampy wasn’t a boring person at all. Grampy was a legend. He gave Rudy his first beer, back when he was nine or ten. And he told the best stories, which were probably 90% bollocks but who cares? And he actually seemed to _like_ Rudy, as well as loving him. He was probably the only person in the family who liked him.

Rudy is managing to keep it together, but the other him isn’t doing so well. He pops out during community service and Rudy drags him into the little room where they keep the sports equipment, before the weepy sod can embarrass him. Sure enough, he starts crying as soon as the door is closed.

“Look, man, you’ve gotta pull it together. Grampy wouldn’t want you crying like this, he hated all that soppy bollocks.”

“I can’t help it,” says other Rudy, sitting cross-legged on the floor and wiping his face with the end of his sleeve. “I’m gonna miss him so much. And we … we never even told him that we love him.” More tears. Rudy rolls his eyes, acutely embarrassed.

“Seriously, what’d be the point? He were senile, he thought I were his old mate Charlie, from the war.”

Other Rudy sniffs and says “Hey, remember that story he used to tell about Charlie and the French prostitute with the one arm?” He gives a quiet, snuffling laugh, which doesn’t last. He’s crying again in seconds.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. Rudy crouches down in front of his other self, and hugs him. It’s an uncomfortable hug. Not just because Rudy is worried about other Rudy getting snot all over his jumpsuit, but because he can’t ignore it any more. When you get right up close to pain, it demands to be noticed.

The door opens, and Curtis stands in the doorway, looking alarmed. Rudy scowls at him, keeping his arms tightly wrapped around his other self. Curtis hovers, facial expression changing from alarmed to confused, and Rudy mouths “Fuck off” at him. He fucks off, and Rudy strokes other Rudy’s back and tells him it’ll be okay, it’ll get easier soon.

Rudy feels like a fraud, pretending to be the strong one. There’s no way he’s letting other Rudy back inside until he’s done riding this wave of grief. He couldn’t handle it.

 

  1. **Keep breathing.**



Sometimes, amongst all the bickering, they manage a few moments of calm. They like to go up to the roof of the community centre together and have a smoke. Or a vape, more often, since other Rudy worries about lung cancer. Or just to breathe the damp, polluted air that rises up from the water. They talk about daft stuff, or they don’t talk at all. In those moments, Rudy actually enjoys his own company.

Rudy wouldn’t say he’s made peace with himself because, realistically, the two sides of him will always be at war over something. But they don’t stab each other with scissors any more, which is progress. Maybe this is what growing up feels like.


End file.
